A Matter Of Boots
by CamelotKnight
Summary: Its 0 ABY-3 ABY, and Wedge can't find his boots. Enough said.


**Somewhere between the Battle of Yavin and the Battle of Hoth. Just a little something I thought of on the spur of the moment, coz I love oneshots like this and can't get enough of them–actually I can, there aren't very many :-( This is for all those Roque-Squadron crazy fans out there who adore reading fics about the Rogues fooling about…**

 **Plz R &R!**

Wedge surveyed the outside of his boot like a boot-connoisseur with a frown on his face which got bigger during the course of his inspection. After poking at it with a hesitant finger, he finally seemed to make up his mind and threw it unceremoniously on the floor. "Nope," he announced with an air of finality.

Wes, sitting on the bunker opposite Wedge's, succeeded in inserting his foot into his boot and looked up at Wedge's face. He groaned. "Wedge, for the millionth time, that is your boot!"

"I know my boot when I see it!" he retorted with an air of hurt emotions. "This isn't mine."

Wes got up with a half-irritated, half-resigned sigh and picked up the boot from where it had been dumped. He peered at it, sniffed in disgust, and held it at arm's length. "Well, it certainly smells like your boot, all right."

He ducked, narrowly missing Wedge's other boot. "My boots do _not_ stink," Wedge said. "I take good care of them."

Wes bent down and picked Boot No. 2. "So, according to you, this–" he held up Boot No. 2 "–is your boot."

Wedge nodded enthusiastically.

"And this–" Wes held up Boot No. 1 "–is not." Wedge nodded again.

Wes sniffed Boot No. 2. "Well, this one doesn't stink."

"I told you," Wedge said with an air of triumph. "That stinking boot isn't my boot."

A patter of footsteps echoed down the passage, and then Luke and Tycho peeked into the room. Luke grinned. "Don't tell me, I know. You stick firmly adhere to your opinion of your boot being mysteriously stolen and/or lost?" he asked.

Wes chuckled. "You bet."

Wedge arose from his bunk, minus boots. "Look, this isn't a joking matter, all right? I have to find my boot!"

"Yeah, you really have to," luke said. "Remember we have a briefing session five minutes from now."

"Five?" Wedge looked at his chrono in sudden panic. "Oh, Force. I thought it was fifteen!" He looked despairingly at his companions. "What do I do? I can't go to the briefing hall without my boots!"

"No, you can't," Luke agreed unsympathetically. "I will physically stop you if you attempt to."

"Come on guys, we have to find my boot," Wedge said, setting a perfect example by descending to his knees and looking underneath the bunker. "IN the name of friendship of whatever, help me find my boot!"

Tycho obliged first, albeit with a grumble. "This is ridiculous," he said. "I can't believe you actually lost your boot."

Wegde extracted himself from the underside of Wes' bunk for a second to say, "I didn't lose it. it got lost," before disappearing back into its depths.

Luke shrugged at Wes before looking around. "All in the name of friendship, of course," he said when Wes looked disbelievingly at him. "Wedge, do I have to check the refresher in case you accidentally flushed it down the toilet?"

Wedge glared at him. "You be careful. I'm your wing and I can get you killed."

"You're too kind for that."

He sighed. "I'm so predictable. On your knees, Wes," to a standing Wes.

"Why? I firmly persist in believing that that is your boot."

"And I firmly persist in believing otherwise so get down here."

Wes grumbled, but Luke said, "Now, Wes," and Wes couldn't exactly disobey his commanding officer, so he had to oblige. "This is so humiliating," he complained.

"Why?" Tycho asked. "Wedge is the one who actually lost it and he doesn't feel very humiliated. We're just helping him out."

"What if someone sees us? Fine, elite members of Rogue Squadron crawling about on our hands and knees?" he snorted. "We'll never hear the end of it."

"We'll blame Wedge," Tycho said in a placatory voice.

"No, we won't," Wedge said.

"In case anyone's interested, I locked the door," Luke said matter-of-factly.

"Could've said so before," Wes grumbled.

Luke simply grinned.

A thorough search turned up nothing–well, not exactly nothing. Wedge found a button that turned out to be Luke's, Tycho found Wes' comlink that had been missing for exactly twelve minutes, Luke found the dead remains of a certain animal that couldn't be recognized. "Congratulations, Luke," Wes said, slapping him on the back. "You found a fossil fuel."

Tycho frowned. "No, he didn't, fossil fuels are bones."

"Fossil fuels are dead remains of animals or plants. I'd say this is a dead animal," Wes retorted.

"Well, actually–" Luke began.

"Who cares!" Wedge shouted, his face rather red. "I still can't find my boot!"

Wes sighed. "Wedge, I'm telling you that _is_ your boot!"

Wedge glared daggers at him. "I'll boot _you_ now, if you don't stop saying that. It's far too small."

"Look, I hate to say it," Luke said, apparently deciding to say it all the same, "but let's face it, the Rebellion's boot-manufacturers aren't very meticulous when it comes to making boots for the Rebels. Maybe they think we're far too busy to worry about sore feet. Mine were far too big for me."

"Really?" Tycho asked curiously. "They look fine to me."

Luke grinned. "Luckily for me, Han's were far too small for him. we exchanged ours."

Wes snapped his fingers. "Get someone to exchange yours with, Wedge! That'll solve the problem, won't it?"

Wedge was running a hand through his hair in misery. "No, it won't. You see, one of my boots–my real, actual boot–is fine. The other one is small." He glared down at the offending boot.

Wes snorted. "You're delusional. It's the same size, Wedge."

Wedge stomped over to the boots, picked them up none too gently, and placed them on the floor, side-by-side for all to see. "See that?" he asked, pointing accusingly at one of the boots, which was clearly smaller than the other. "That's nearly half the size of _my_ boot."

Wes looked doubtful. "More like three inches smaller."

Wedge threw up his hands in surrender. "Well, at least you're convinced, Mr. Cynical."

"Wait, how did that even happen?" Tycho asked. "You were fine with your boots two hours ago, except for the little hole in one of them."

"Yes, then I gave them over to the cobblers for mending. Somehow those geniuses managed to shrink it by three inches."

"Wedge, I know your boots aren't the same size but you have to wear them!" Luke said. "We've only got about half a minute left."

The black-haired pilot nodded dejectedly. "I guess you're right." He sat down on Wes' bunk–and no one in the room doubted that that was on purpose–and proceeded to wiggle his foot into the boot. His success could be measured by the plethora of expressions fleeting across his face. Wes was chuckling all the while, Luke was trying to suppress his grins, even Tycho was grinning away.

Finally wedge looked up with relief. "Phew. That's done." He grimaced. "And it's a bit of a tight fit in there."

"Ooof! I can't take it anymore!"

All four of them turned at the loud voice right outside their door, followed closely by a knock. Luke walked over and opened the door. Hobbie stood outside with Dack, grimacing as he said, "Luke, the stupidest thing has happened to me. I sent me boot to the cobblers for mending, and when it came back it was three inches bigger than normal."

Wes and Tycho obediently made way for Wedge, who was bearing down on Hobbie, furious as he snatched the boot off his leg and waved it in front of Hobbie. "Would that be this boot?"

Hobbie peered at it, then snatched it away. "That is my boot! Wedge, why did you steal my boot?"

Luke and Tycho took a step forward to stop Wedge from pummeling Hobbie, but he simply said, "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear this whole mix-up has something to do with Wes."

The other five looked at each other, then at Wes. The pilot was looking the picture of innocence. "What? Me?" he pointed a finger at himself. "No, no, no. my hands are clean in this."

Wedge gave him a withering look. "Who volunteered to bring back my boots from the cobblers'?"

"Well, I did, but–"

"And who brought mine from the cobblers'?" Hobbie asked.

Wes' shoulders slumped in defeat. "I knew I wouldn't get away with that trick."

Luke exhaled. "Rogues, we've only got fifteen seconds left. We are going to be so late. Wedge, why don't you postpone your verbal and physical beating till after the briefing?"

"Will do." wedge glared at Wes, who grinned back.

"I'll help," Hobbie said gallantly.

"Why, thank you, Hobbie," Wedge said drily.

"Hey, don't mention it," the pilot said as they moved out of the room and ran down the corridor. "I do owe him for the occasional tricks he's played on me and managed to get away with."

Luke smiled suddenly. "You know what? Maybe all of us Rogues should join in."

Wes paled. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes." Tycho smiled wickedly.

When they reached the briefing room, Han was waiting for them. "What took you so long? Her Highnessness was beginning to get cranky."

"What, did she take it out on you, Han?" Luke asked knowingly.

Han sneered. "What do you think? Get in there, Luke, before someone else blows his–or her–top."

Luke slipped past him, and the other Rogues did too. Wedge was the last–Han looked at him skeptically. "Boot problem?" he asked sympathetically.

Wedge nodded. So Luke had told him. "Wes exchanged mine with Hobbie's. Don't worry, I'm going to give him a nice pummeling as a reward. The other Rogues are going to give me a hand." _As if I need help,_ he added to himself.

Han wasn't like other captains, he simply nodded in understanding, maybe even in approval. Nobody took kindly to Wes' tricks. "Give him a few on my behalf, too."

Wedge dipped his head with a grin. "Will do, sir."

"And stop calling me sir, Wedge."

"Yes sir." Wedge smiled genially at Han.


End file.
